6 Underground
by violet.hour
Summary: AU. In a world where men are forced to fight like dogs and death may be one's only escape, Grimmjow finds another. And stumbles into the life of a young man who may prove to be his salvation. GrimmIchi Yaoi
1. 1: Sexta

**Chapter 1:**

**Sexta**

Pant. _Gasp. _Pant. _Gasp._

He growled, his ragged jacket flying behind him as he clawed at his opponent. What was her name? Menoly? He didn't care. His Master didn't care. All he saw were breaks in her guard, all he felt was the rush of adrenaline. He would win. He was made for it. The metal collar around his neck was a constant reminder of that.

His world right now consisted of himself and the girl.

Sweat and blood flew from his head as he spun his body into a roundhouse kick aimed for the girl's throat. Menoly managed to block the kick with her hands, and stumbled back from the force of it.

She was panting and bloody, much like himself, but the bruises and scratches that marred her lithe body were far more numerous than his own. He almost felt bad for her, but remembered his Master's words: _Show no mercy. _

So he would not.

Around them, the crowd went wild from behind the electric fence. The lights blinded him as he looked up to his Master's face. Aizen was smirking, his brown hair swept back, white suit impeccable. Oh, how he despised his Master.

The girl screamed and lunged for him again, and he almost laughed at how weak she was. He twisted away from her fist, crouched, and easily swept her legs out from beneath her. When she landed, he did not hesitate. He pinned her with his left foot and, ignoring her screams, clutched her right leg and ripped it from her body with a ferocious roar.

Blood covered him as he looked down on his prey. He did not meet her eyes, however; to look into the eyes of one's prey would be to connect with them, and he avoided that as much as possible. It was harder to kill someone if you knew them.

Instead, he took in her pitiful shrieks as her life's blood poured unrelenting from her broken body. He was not sorry. In the battle between his life and the life of someone else, his would always take precedence.

Despite his horrible existence, he would not let himself die. He was the king.

He was brought back to reality as the announcer's voice crowed over the screaming crowd. "She is dead! Dead! Sexta is victorious! The victor is SEXTA!"

Sexta. Six. That was his number. His name. The thing that marked him as Lord Aizen's property, forever etched in black upon his back.

He looked up again, and met his Master's eyes. Aizen was happy; no doubt would he gain much from his Sexta's victory tonight. The Sexta glared, conveying all of his hate into his gaze that he could not voice aloud.

He stared until the stadium lights burned his eyes, and he was forced to look away.

* * *

"Come on, Ichigo!" A loud voice sounded from outside the door. "Open up!"

Ichigo groaned and rolled over on the couch, promptly falling out and hitting the floor. He cursed as his forehead landed with a smack on the hardwood. The textbooks that had been resting on his chest as he slept fell around him, along with all of the papers that he used to mark his place. He groaned, realizing that he would have to reorganize everything. Across the room, Renji continued to bang relentlessly on the door.

"Dude!! You alive in there?"

Ichigo didn't respond; instead, he padded to the door and threw it open, a snarl on his face.

"Hey man, wass—" Ichigo yanked Renji inside, and slammed the door behind him.

"What do you think you're doing?!" he hissed.

Renji smiled, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. "Let's go out, man! The night is young, and Rukia wants to go to a rave."

"The night is _young?_ You do realize it's one o' clock in the morning, don't you?"

The redhead stared back blankly. Ichigo fought the urge to bang his head against the wall.

"And anyway, exams are coming up; I need to study."

Renji groaned. "Ichigo! Come on, man! We've got two weeks of vacation to go—"

"Ten days."

"—Whatever, and you're focused on _studying?_ It's no wonder you haven't gotten laid yet."

"I think it's time for you to leave."

Renji sighed. "Look, I'm sorry man." He tried a different tactic. "It's just that I'm worried about you, all alone out here. This neighborhood is _seedy_. I'm pretty sure I almost got raped on my way."

Ichigo raised an eyebrow. "Well you're here now, aren't you? And it's not that bad, really."

He tried to ignore the way Renji critically eyed the old furniture littering the living room, and the bucket placed under the "drippy spot" in the middle of the kitchen.

He had moved here, into the cheapest apartment he could find, less than six months ago when he turned eighteen. He was paying for it by working at his father's clinic, and loved it. It wasn't that he hated living with his family; it was just a dream of his to make it on his own. And the apartment wasn't going to be permanent, anyway. He was just starting out.

He knew, though, that the area wasn't the best for those living alone. There were rumors of an underground fight club called Las Noches, where men and women were pitted against each other in merciless death matches. It was said that children as young as seven or eight were kidnapped right off of the streets, or bought from corrupt orphanages deep in the bowels of Karakura. They were then bred to fight.

Ichigo knew they were only rumors, but one could never know for sure in a city like the one he lived in.

"Come on, Ichigo. Just one night. We hardly hang out anymore." Renji whined.

_Just one night. _He always ended up having fun with his friends anyway. "Alright…let me just go get changed."

* * *

He sighed, calming himself. He had planned this night for months.

After the fight, his Master's lead henchmen, Tousen and Gin, had grabbed him and led him to the basement where his cage was located. He didn't protest as they threw him inside, or growl when they carelessly tossed a can of Vienna sausages and a loaf of bread under the door. Instead he waited, comforting himself with the thought that soon, he would taste freedom for the first time in seventeen years.

It was his turn to be free.

His musings were interrupted by a recognizable knock at his door. He waited; it was not as if his Master would wait for his consent before entering. Sure enough, the door swung open, and Aizen entered. His glasses flashed under the light of the sole bulb that illuminated the Sexta's small dwelling; as he took in the blue-haired man's tense form, he smirked.

"You did well tonight, pet." He drawled. "You won us a hefty sum, and for that I am quite pleased."

Aizen reached out a pale hand, but the Sexta drew away, the beginnings of a grimace on his lips. He looked down and away, refusing to meet his Master's eyes.

He did not see the dark look that passed over Aizen's usually calm face. The older man stepped back. "I have brought you some new clothes to replace your bloodied ones."

The Sexta hardly moved as a neatly wrapped package landed on his cot.

"Your next opponent will arrive in two days' time. We will train tomorrow, so rest up." With that, Aizen turned and left, shutting the door gently behind him.

After his retreating footsteps could not be heard any longer, the Sexta eyed the package on his bed, then grabbed it and tossed it across his cell. He had no desire to accept anything given to him by Lord Aizen. The very thought of it made him want to be sick.

Two hours passed before he heard the first gunshot.

The Sexta sat up in his bed, alert and ready. His gaze locked on the heavy metal door, and he longed to know what was going on outside. Soon, he heard two loud grunts, and someone striking his doorframe with something hard. A few seconds later, the door swung open, and a familiar form stood before him, gun in hand.

"Di Roy," he rasped, grinning. "You made it."

The fair-haired man smiled back, sharp teeth making his appearance seem feral. "Yes. You have to hurry, though. Aizen's men don't take long."

They ran out the open door, leaping over the bodies of the two guards whose job was to watch over the fighter's cell.

"This way!" Di Roy hissed, grabbing the Sexta's arm and leading him through a maze of damp concrete hallways until they reached a flight of stairs. They both turned as the sound of rapid gunfire filled the hallway from whence they came.

A harsh scream sounded, followed by several shouts.

"Shit!" Di Roy said. "Sounds like Yylfordt and Nakeem couldn't hold them off." A pained look crossed his face as he turned to his companion. "Hurry, Sexta. They're probably dead."

The fighter didn't need to be told twice. He sprinted up the worn metal stairs, up to what looked like moonlight spilling through an opening only a few feet ahead. He spared a glance back down, to make sure Di Roy was behind him. But the young man had turned back to face the hallway, a determined look on his face.

He noticed the incredulous stare of the Sexta. "Just go!" he cried. "Sexta, the five of us promised that we would always stand by you! Now's your chance—"

Di Roy was cut off as a gun was fired and several shots sent him staggering back. The fighter dodged as more shots were fired in his direction, but one struck him directly in the shoulder. His mouth opened in a silent cry as burning pain lanced up and down his arm.

He turned back towards the moonlight and the promise of freedom, but not before seeing his attacker's face: it was Tousen.

"You cannot run, Sexta! You were born to fight! You live to kill!" Tousen's voice echoed up the stairwell, but the fighter was already gone, sprinting down the alleyway the stairs led up to and to the empty city streets beyond.

* * *

The Sexta laughed, sucking in the clean night air and reveling in how much _space_ surrounded him. And the stars! Never had he seen a sight so beautiful as the night sky turning slowly above him. His Master had taken him for "walks" before in the daytime to keep him healthy, but he had not seen the moon or tasted the scent of night before in his life.

It was so different from the dank, mildew-infested cell he had called home for so long that it made him feel light-headed.

He was so wrapped up in his joy that it took a few minutes before he realized that his old friends, the ones who risked their lives to set him free, were probably all dead. _Shawlong. Edrad. Nakeem. Yylfordt. Di Roy. _

He shut his eyes, remembering how they had all promised to protect him and each other; their bond one of the only things keeping him sane in the hell they all existed in under Aizen.

Then he growled, ignoring the pain that still radiated from his shoulder, and ran faster. If he did not escape, if he did not thrive, it would put their memory to shame. It spurred him on as he disappeared into the night, putting as much distance between himself and Las Noches as possible.

* * *

Ichigo shivered, mumbling grouchily to himself as he walked home. Not only had Renji gotten drunk, but he had spent all of his and Ichigo's pocket money on drinks and was thus unable to give him cash for a taxi home.

Sure, it was cool to be at a rave; Renji, Rukia and the rest of his friends surely had fun. It was held Urahara Shoten, a club owned by a man named Kisuke and his partner Yoruichi; it was disguised as an mundane shop during the day.

Kisuke had been in Ichigo's life for as long as he could remember; he taught him how to fight, and was there for advice whenever his scatter-brained father couldn't take the time. Yoruichi, too, had been with Kisuke for a long time; she acted as bartender in the club, and kept Kisuke in line.

The streetlights flickered as Ichigo rounded onto his block and made his way to his apartment complex. It was a cold night, and he was tired; he hadn't really had a drink, except for a sip of something fruity that Rukia had urged him to try. He figured he would take a shower, then maybe find something to watch on the television before going to bed. It wasn't like he had anything going on tomorrow…

Ichigo's train of thought came to a screeching halt as he reached the alcove where his apartment door was situated. There was a dark shape huddled there, and Ichigo was sure he could make out dried blood in the dim light. Fear danced up his spine; he didn't know what to do.

The dark shaped moved, and Ichigo froze as two clear, piercing blue eyes stared into his own. "Help me…" A low voice rasped.

Without thinking, Ichigo moved forward, jamming his key into the door and swinging it open before reaching towards the man crouching on his porch. In the light that spilled out from the hallway, he could make out the man's face.

Ichigo kneeled down and gasped; the man was…well, the man was gorgeous. Blue hair framed cerulean eyes, which had strange markings near the temples. The man had a strong jaw, too; there was something about him that was distinctly feline, and Ichigo found himself unable to look away.

Then the blue eyes met his own, and Ichigo remembered where he was. "Hold on to me; I'll help you up."

The mysterious man obeyed, grunting as he did so. Ichigo held his breath as he held onto the man, feeling something wet that he fervently prayed was not blood.

"W-What…What's your name?" he murmured, slowly leading the man inside.

Ichigo noticed how he was shivering violently, and reminded himself to fetch blankets as soon as they were safely inside. He also didn't miss the torn, bloody white jacket the man was wearing, with no undershirt; no wonder he was so cold!

The man chuckled then, a dark sound. Ichigo wondered what he found funny.

"My name…" The piercing eyes found his again. "It has been a long time since I've been asked that."

.

.

.

"…I am Grimmjow."

* * *

**(A/N: Hello, reader, and welcome to my AU GrimmIchi tale of sex, blood, and romance! This is yaoi, so hetero people, consider yourselves warned. This is also disclaimer time; Bleach and all of its characters, names, etc. © Tite Kubo and Viz Media. **

**If anyone is confused, Grimmjow's name was not used at all in the beginning because, as a fighter, he was only known by his number, and not as a person. I also know that it may be considered a bit OOC that he mourned for his Fraccion, but this is AU, and they served a bit of a different purpose.**

**I hope you stick around to enjoy the next installment. Until then, please drop a review on your way out; they are greatly appreciated.)**


	2. 2: Yo Soy

**Chapter 2:**

**Yo Soy**

* * *

The two men trudged inside, Ichigo grunting with the effort of supporting most of the taller Grimmjow's weight. The blue-haired man (well, it was more like teal, Ichigo decided) didn't look very big, but he was _solid. _Ichigo had had to hold back a gasp when he wrapped his left arm around Grimmjow's waist and felt nothing but warm, rock-hard muscle. There was virtually no give at all.

Ichigo felt his uneasiness grow. Where did this man come from?

He led Grimmjow into his living room and slowly disentangled himself from his grasp. He looked very worn out, and in the light of his living room Ichigo could see that the mystery liquid was, in fact, blood. It stained Grimmjow's white jacket a dark crimson at his left shoulder and down his tattered sleeve, from where it was beginning to drip onto the floor. Ichigo noticed with mounting horror that there was a ragged hole where the source of the blood was.

A bullet hole.

_Ohmygod. Shit! _"Um, just s-stand right here, ok? I'll, um, I'll be right back!"

He hurried out of the room and into the hallway that led to his bedroom, where the closet that had his towels and spare blankets was located. He threw it open and grabbed the thickest comforter he could find and a couple black, plush towels from the bottom that were an "apartment-warming" gift from his sisters. They would not stain.

Grimmjow looked about the room as Ichigo busied himself in the hallway. The pain in his shoulder had faded to a dull, throbbing ache, but he knew that he needed medical treatment sooner rather than later. He tried to remain absolutely still, as not to spread blood on the young man's floor.

He gazed about the apartment; it was small, but seemed like a palace to Grimmjow after life in a cage. The walls were painted a neutral light blue, and the floor was hardwood. Beat-up but soft looking dark brown lounge chairs were spread about, as well as a long couch. There was a thin black rug in the middle of the room, as well as a small glass coffee table covered in textbooks. There was a medium-sized television propped up on a plastic crate in the far corner, and picture frames covered the walls. Many contained interesting snapshots of the orange-haired boy and people who Grimmjow guessed were his acquaintances.

He tried not to be unnerved by the boy's flustered attitude and somewhat jerky movements. The orange-haired boy was all over the place, and Grimmjow was not used to it. He had lived so long only having been exposed to two kinds of emotions; Master when he was pleased, and Master when he was not. He had to remind himself that _flustered_ might not always equal _angry_, so he probably had no reason to fear being punished or rebuked.

The young man certainly seemed harmless enough. Grimmjow had been surprised at the boy's strength as he supported most of his weight; his arms had been so lithe, his waist impossibly small for his age. Then again, Grimmjow had grown up surrounded by nothing but big, rough men and steely-eyed women who lived to destroy.

He remembered how his eyes had found the boy's shocked brown ones in the darkness. There was no steel there. Only softness.

As Ichigo sped across the hall again to get to the bathroom, he peeked his head out to make sure Grimmjow was still standing. To his great relief, the man had not moved. Ichigo squeezed into the tiny bathroom, balancing the blanket and towels in one hand while he rummaged wildly in the cabinet for his first aid kit.

He emerged a few seconds later and headed for Grimmjow, who stood motionless in the middle of the room and had not noticed his entrance. Ichigo realized that Grimmjow seemed to be looking intently at something; he followed the blue-haired man's gaze to a framed picture of Renji, Rukia, and himself at their friends Yumichika and Ikkaku's wedding.

They were laughing, hanging on to each other and throwing rice at the camera. Renji was placing a kiss on Rukia's cheek, and Rukia was holding the bouquet that she had caught. Ichigo had his arms around both of them. The look on Grimmjow's face as he stared was…bemused? Ichigo felt a strange feeling well up within him; never had he seen anyone look so lonely.

He padded up to Grimmjow and placed a hand gently on his uninjured shoulder to alert the blue-haired man of his presence. To Ichigo's shock, Grimmjow whirled around, lips pulled back in a ferocious snarl, nearly knocking the younger man over. He immediately dropped all of the supplies he had been holding in his haste to stumble away.

Grimmjow's eyes were wide, his nostrils slightly flared.

"I-It's okay! I'm sorry," Ichigo exclaimed, bewildered. "I didn't mean to surprise you like that."

Grimmjow glared for a few more seconds, then seemed to deflate before his eyes. "I'm sorry." He rasped. His voice seemed to be rough…from misuse?

"It's alright! Really," Ichigo said kindly as he stooped to gather up the first aid kit and spread the black towels on the couch. He took deep breaths in the hope that Grimmjow would see how calm he was and feel calmer himself. "Why don't you sit down? Just gimme a sec to get everything set up, and we'll take a look at your…wound."

Grimmjow stepped around him, never taking his eyes away from the boy in front of him. He sat down gingerly on the end of the couch where the towels were spread out; a barely perceptible groan escaped his lips as his tired muscles settled down for the first time in hours.

The apartment was warm, and smelled nice. It was light, and slightly sweet, a scent Grimmjow had never experienced before. He had smelled it emanating from the boy's hair, too, as he was led inside. Grimmjow idly wondered what it could be as the young man finished fussing with his first aid kit and came to sit next to Grimmjow on the couch.

Ichigo sucked in a breath as Grimmjow visibly tensed, eyeing him warily. With a patient sigh, he slowly held out his hands in front of him, displaying the items he held; disinfectant, forceps, and a needle and thread. There was a ton of gauze in a heap on the small glass coffee table behind him.

Ichigo smiled, trying to come off reassuring. "I'm just going to clean and stitch you up, then cover it in gauze…Is that okay?"

He waited as Grimmjow studied him, then gave a small nod, as an indication to continue. "Your name…"

"Hmm?" Ichigo said, setting down his materials and snatching his pink-rimmed reading glasses (a gift from Yuzu) off the table. "My name? I'm Ichigo. Ichigo Kurosaki."

_Ichigo. _Grimmjow sighed and willed himself to relax as he felt the sting of the antiseptic and felt Ichigo gently probe his wound for the bullet. His slender fingers traced the perimeter of his shoulder and upper arm, and the young man seemed pleased when he found no exit wound. The wound was bloody and Grimmjow's skin was torn, but it was not deep.

Then the boy let out a small _aha!_ sound and looked up triumphantly at Grimmjow. "Lucky you, the bullet's not that far in. I should be able to get it out pretty easily."

Grimmjow just looked at him. Ichigo averted his eyes, blushing a bit in an embarrassed way, and reached for a small flashlight he had gotten out earlier. He held it between his teeth and leaned closer to the blue-haired man's arm, brows knitted in concentration. The pink glasses slid down his nose a few centimeters.

"This might hurt a bit," Ichigo said, his voice muffled by the flashlight. "I'll try and be quick."

Then he slowly inserted the forceps and grasped the bullet. Grimmjow hissed as the fire returned full force to his shoulder. He began to sweat as Ichigo worked; the burning pain kept growing. He forced himself to keep his arm relaxed and refrain from lashing out.

This boy was not like the pseudo medics his Master hired to tend to his occasional injuries. He knew Ichigo was trying to be gentle, and that thought gave him more comfort than the young man could ever know. He could tell by the way Ichigo's free hand unconsciously gripped his own, and by the sweat that sprang up on the boy's brow as he became aware of Grimmjow's pain. No one had ever tried to be gentle with him before.

So he struggled to stay calm, and instead focused on that wonderful, elusive scent that was so clear to him now that the boy was so close. What could smell so sweet…?

And then it was over. With a small jerk the bullet was out, and Ichigo was smirking triumphantly and placing it in a small bowl filled with alcohol. Grimmjow let himself sag into the comfortable chair as the boy quickly and expertly laced him up, then wrapped his shoulder and upper arm in a generous amount of gauze. He had no doubt the wound would heal; Ichigo worked with a practiced hand.

"You have a high threshold for pain…" Ichigo murmured. _Where do you come from?_

When he finished, Grimmjow ran his other hand over the bandage. The sutures beneath were even and smooth.

Grimmjow couldn't help but wonder where he had learned such things, living in a ghetto area like this. As if feeling Grimmjow's questioning gaze, Ichigo sat back with a stretch and smiled again. The boy sure smiled a lot.

"My father owns a medical center. Kurosaki Clinic, ever heard of it?"

Grimmjow shook his head.

"Well, it's a pretty nice place. I was raised there as a kid, and my dad taught me a bunch of medical stuff. I'm glad I was able to put it to good use." Ichigo got up, covering his mouth as he yawned, and moved around the table, cleaning up bloody tissues and spare string. He placed the forceps and needle in the bowl with the bullet, and crossed the room into the kitchen, placing the bowl into the sink.

As soon as he re-entered the living room, Grimmjow's sharp blue eyes were on him. "Thank you, Ichigo."

Ichigo mentally slapped himself as Grimmjow's low voice spoke his name. "N-No, um, no problem. Really. Grimmjow." He breathed. _You're an idiot, Ichigo. You are. _

He stood there smiling stupidly for a few seconds, before he noticed Grimmjow was still wearing his bloody white jacket and stained pants. The clothes could hardly be called white anymore, though. And who the heck wore clothes like that in the middle of winter?!

He gestured towards the older man's clothes, not noticing the tiny flinch the action provoked. "Would you like to change out of those clothes? I think I have something comfier that'll fit you…" He trailed off as Grimmjow looked at him, surprise written on his face. "My friend Chad is about your size, and he leaves stuff here," he finished.

Grimmjow's mouth twitched, the first sign of a smile Ichigo had yet seen. "Yes. I'd like that." His gut churned with excitement. To be out of his Master's clothes was another step closer to being free! And this boy was willing to offer things to him so willingly; the former fighter was starting to feel a bit overwhelmed by these experiences which were so foreign to him.

Ichigo returned, arms laden with a pair of black sweatpants and a rose-colored tank. As the clothes were placed in his arms, Grimmjow looked up at his host.

"Why?" he asked.

The young man before him adjusted his glasses, then pulled them from his face and tucked them into a pocket. "Why what?"

"…Why are you helping me?"

"I couldn't have just left you on my porch, now could I?" he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

_Yes. You could have._ Grimmjow placed the clothes on the couch next to him and slid out of his jacket, taking care to watch his shoulder. He pulled on the tank and went to undo his pants. _And I would not have blamed you for it._

He didn't notice Ichigo as his face turned a bright shade of pink and he spun around to give the blue-haired man some privacy. "No shame, huh?"

"Shame?" Grimmjow answered truthfully. He had lived like a dog. There was no such thing as privacy or personal space.

"Uh, never mind. And sorry about the tank. I threw my red boxers in the wash by accident…"

Grimmjow had no idea what Ichigo was going on about, so he opted for the default answer: silence. After a few moments, the young man looked back to see Grimmjow gathering his old clothes into a pile.

While the fighter was occupied, he couldn't help but notice how the thin shirt hugged Grimmjow's cat-like form in all the right places…and only accentuated his sculpted muscles. Ichigo could see strength contained there, and knew by the way Grimjow carried himself that he had seen many a battle. The mysterious man was like a panther; lithe and beautiful and quietly dangerous. Ichigo made a note to himself to never piss the man off. And to stop gaping at him like a fool.

Then Grimmjow turned around, and Ichigo gasped. Around Grimmjow's neck…was a collar. It was heavy-looking, made of thick leather, surrounded on the outside by a thin, flat length of metal. Inscribed on the side was an intricately formed number six.

The fighter noticed Ichigo's stare, and brought his hand up to his collar, that which marked him as property. That which stole his humanity from him.

"Ichigo," he said. The boy's astonishment unnerved him. His tone was almost pleading, though he knew not for what. "This is what I am."

* * *

**(A/N: Wow!! I logged in today and saw all the reviews and just HAD to write the next chapter! Thank you so much for all the enthusiasm, guys ^^. ...Don't get used to a quick update, though. OTL**

**Also, I know Grimmjow's not very snarky…remember, he's not used to nice people ahaha. **

**If anyone has questions about the characters, or is confused about anything, feel free to ask. I'm trying out this type of plot for the first time so I want to make sure everyone's on the same page (ha ha). **

**Also, Ichigo's glasses: ****http: / / ./2006/06/jojo002ac4vn . jpg (remove the spaces.) :D**

**Please continue to enjoy and leave me a little review to nom on on your way out!)**


	3. 3: Mi Casa, Su Casa

**Chapter 3:**

**Mi Casa, Su Casa**

* * *

Ichigo felt fear creep up his spine and bloom slowly in his chest as he continued to stare at the blue-haired man before him. Fear, not because he was afraid that Grimmjow would hurt him in any way, but because he did not understand. It was an instinctual fear.

He struggled to make himself calm; to control his breathing, to still his heart. For some reason, he knew it would calm Grimmjow down too. The man reminded him so much of a wild, caged animal. And, like an animal, he was so sensitive to those around him. Ichigo could tell as had been stitching the man up; the phenomenon fascinated him.

Never before had he met someone like Grimmjow.

Grimmjow watched, tense, as a flurry of emotions crossed the young man's face. That strange pleading feeling refused to leave. He had no idea why; maybe it was because Ichigo had been the first person in his life to show him softness, to show him benevolence; maybe it was the delicate scent that seemed to follow the boy everywhere, holding the promise of something elusive and pure that Grimmjow had never felt before. What ever the reason, he wanted desperately for Ichigo to not be afraid.

But he did not know how to show it. He did not know how to trust him.

Ichigo stepped forward and Grimmjow automatically took a step back, ducking around the couch. Ichigo continued to advance, undeterred, until he had backed the blue-haired man against the wall.

"Grimmjow," Ichigo whispered. "I'm not going to hurt you. I just…"

He reached his hand out, tentatively, to brush against the fighter's heavy collar. His fingers were a hair's breadth away when his breath left his lungs and he was suddenly pinned against the wall, arms trapped at his sides and Grimmjow's body pressed against him.

Grimmjow sighed, angry at his inability to control his reactions. But no one had ever found reason to be that close, other than to harm him. He held Ichigo stiffly, losing himself in that scent as the boy looked up at him with wide eyes. His hands held Ichigo's forearms to his sides, and he marveled at the fact that his fingers could wrap completely around. He could feel the boy's pulse as well; it was frantic and fast, beating like a bird's wings. Up close, he completely dwarfed the boy. Up close, was so…so _frail._

"I'm not," Ichigo said, his voice low. Grimmjow started, not realizing that he had said his thoughts out loud. "You won't be able to hurt me that easily."

The young man's right arm twitched and Grimmjow forced himself to loosen his grip. His eyes narrowed to slits as Ichigo's hand travelled up and up, finally settling at the base of his throat. He shivered.

Ichigo traced the rim of the thick collar with his fingers, transfixed. It was not like a dog collar, or even one associated with sexual fetishes like he had initially considered. It was continuous all the way around Grimmjow's neck, meant not to be removed. There was the intricately engraved number six, and next to it, the word _Sexta._ The skin beneath was scarred, as if Grimmjow's neck had been rubbed raw and subsequently hardened to adapt to the presence of the collar.

Grimmjow looked down at Ichigo through slit eyes, waiting for the strike that never came. But Ichigo simply continued to touch him gently. His expression was oddly calm as he studied the ornament around Grimmjow's neck. He was unused to this kind of treatment. Usually, when he was grabbed by the collar, it meant that a lashing was soon to follow.

The fighter raised his own hands to rest at the base of Ichigo's neck. It was smooth and slightly tan, moving with each breath the boy took. Devoid of any scars, any marks of ownership.

"I could crush you," he growled suddenly, with no intent behind the words. He was fascinated by this boy, who was so fragile yet so fearless.

Ichigo looked up, meeting his eyes. "You won't."

"Why not?" The hands tightened, thumbs pressing at his windpipe. "What is there to stop me?"

"You won't," he repeated softly. "Trust me."

_Trust me. Trust me._ The boy was saying over and over again. Grimmjow had heard the word before, but had no idea what it meant. He had never really given trust before, real trust, not even to Di Roy and the others. He had kept them all at a safe distance. He had had to, to stay alive.

Yet this boy who he hardly knew was standing before him, demanding his trust. How could he be expected to give something he did not even know he had?

But to this boy…he _wanted_ to. He wanted more than anything to trust him, and be trusted in return. If only he knew how to act and what to do.

Ichigo tried not to blush, or do anything else embarrassing, as Grimmjow's body pressed against him. Every place their bodies touched was on fire; his knees, his thighs, Grimmjow's abdomen against his chest. Even as Grimmjow threatened him, he was not afraid. Someone so warm, who looked at him with eyes so full of sadness…there was no reason for him to be afraid.

His reasoning made no sense, even to him, and yet he felt it.

_This is what I am,_ the blue-haired man had said. What did that mean?

"Grimmjow," he murmured. "What are you?"

The man let his hands drop from Ichigo's neck; they fell to his sides as he backed away, watching the young man with a guarded expression as he sagged a little and came away from the wall.

"I am a vessel for killing," he responded, in that same quiet tone. "I fight to serve my master." There was so much more than that, but where could he begin? How did one explain a lifetime of torture?

Ichigo felt his stomach drop to the floor at Grimmjow's words. Were all the rumors true, then? "You…you're…"

He sighed. "I was taken from my orphanage and forced to join the Espada. I was young…" _Old enough to know it was wrong, yet young enough for it to be all I've ever known._

"Espada…?"

"Do you see this number?" Grimmjow turned his head, baring his neck and the number on his collar. "That is the mark of my Master, and my rank. I am the sixth out of ten."

"There are others like you?"

"There are many. But we, the Espada, are the best. Some of us have died…and I am the only one to ever escape."

_The best. The best at taking the lives of others. _Ichigo shivered. "You escaped…"

"Yes," Grimmjow said. "When you found me tonight…I had just broken away. If you hadn't taken me in…" he trailed off. He loathed admitting weakness, but the reality of the situation was clear.

Ichigo was terrified. Anyone would be, if they had heard what Grimmjow had just told him. He was afraid for himself, for his friends, for his life; but more than that, he was afraid for the wild, beautiful man before him. If Grimmjow was so powerful, so important that his Master felt the need to collar and mark him, then he would be pursued.

But…Ichigo didn't care. He didn't care if his world was turned upside down. Didn't care if he was in danger. No one had the right to treat another human being this way.

Not someone like Grimmjow.

He was surprised at his own conviction. He hardly knew Grimmjow. And really, the last thing he needed was more stress. But he couldn't just turn away; not when those cerulean eyes were shooting down his defenses, fathomless depths burning with ferocity and loneliness, begging for something…

In that moment, he made a decision.

"Grimmjow," he began, "There's a lot I don't know about you. And what I do know…to tell you the truth, it scares me."

The man was silent, so Ichigo continued.

"But for some reason…" he laughed. "For some reason, I just don't give a damn. I know I should be running away, but…I want you to stay. I want you to stay here for as long as you need to Grimmjow. You're safe with me."

Ichigo struggled to convince himself that his reasons for offering Grimmjow his home were entirely noble, and not because the sight of his body still caused tingles to run up his spine. He was being nice. He was showing kindness. Yes.

Grimmjow's brows came together. He was at a loss for words. Again and again, this young man surprised him. Grimmjow wondered if all people on the outside were this generous. Was it only in Las Noches that such evil as he had witnessed existed?

No…no. He had heard before, stories of war and murder and greed, conducted by people of the city and around the world. Truly kind people, he supposed, must be rare. And he had found one so easily.

Ichigo.

The young man ran his fingers through his hair. "…I'll take that silence as an acceptance. Come on, I'll show you where you can sleep tonight."

* * *

Grimmjow stretched out on the couch-bed (a "fold-out," Ichigo had called it), staring into the darkness and reveling in the warmth of the house and the comfort of an actual bed.

If he listened closely, he could hear Ichigo's soft breathing from down the hallway, and the chirp of crickets outside. He found himself screwing his eyes shut, waiting for this dream to end. But it did not, and he drew the soft blankets Ichigo had given him tighter around himself, wanting to enjoy the feeling for as long as possible.

Despite the boy's fearless attitude, he knew he could not stay. Aizen's men _would_ find him. It was inevitable. And he could not put Ichigo in danger. A strange feeling of protectiveness surfaced in his mind as he thought of the young man. No; he had to go before he caused Ichigo any undue harm.

He would find a way to evade Aizen, somehow. He could live off the streets; he could steal. But Ichigo was naïve to think that they would be able to hide.

He drifted off to sleep, wrapped in the warmth of the blankets and Ichigo's sweet scent.

* * *

**(A/N: Hello, everyone! I wanted to thank you all so much for all the love this story has been getting! Really, thank you. You guys can expect updates every other week. **

**I'll try and make future chapters longer, too. **

**Also, I may be changing my username soon, so don't freak out if you don't recognize it. **

**Hmm…I think that's it. Please continue to review; it makes my day whenever I see them! Also feel free to ask any questions you may have :)**

**OH. And maybe this link will work for the glasses: **

http:// img75 .imageshack. us/i/m7bleachch2320304jc7 . jpg/ (**Remove the spaces)**

**Lots of love, until next time.**


	4. 4: Encantado

**A/N: Thanks again for reviewing guys, I really really really appreciate it because they inspire me to get up off my procrastinating ass and write. So keep 'em coming. Please. ;)**

**I also wanted to say something about Ichigo because someone brought up an important point: He's not as fierce and aggressive in this fic, and kind of put into the uke role. I just want to point out that in this AU he's a student, not a shinigami. He's not been in any real fights except for a couple fistfights here and there. He's also calmer because I didn't want someone abrasive who would freak out our unstable Grimmjow. Hope that clears things up for anyone pissed about his characterization. **

**This one's for TigerTearz, who wrote me such a nice message. :3 Also, does anyone know any awesome alternative music? I need some new music…**

**Enjoy and leave me a nice review, if you would. :3**

* * *

**Chapter 4:**

**Encantado**

* * *

Grimmjow did not dream that night, so wrapped up in the most comfortable sleep he had ever had. He was awakened by the sun as the first rays of early morning filtered through the curtains of Ichigo's small living room window and laid bright stripes across his face and neck. As he blinked the remains of sleep away, he gazed about the room with new eyes.

Everything was so…bright. He was unused to seeing so much light. He threw the blanket aside and walked over to the window, grimacing as his injured shoulder ached in protest. It was so stiff he could hardly move his arm. Ignoring the pain, Grimmjow used his other hand to push aside the curtain. He gasped as he gazed out at the busy city street before him.

In the daytime, this place did not look so menacing as he knew it was at night. People walked about, dressed in heavy jackets, carrying bags of goods or small children. Sunlight glinted off of lampposts and mailboxes. A loud, steady pounding noise sounded as an obnoxious yellow car rolled down the street. In the tree next to the window, Grimmjow could hear a bird singing.

It was overwhelming. He wondered if he could ever get used to this.

"Good morning," Ichigo's voice sounded behind him. "Kami, I can't believe I didn't notice how long your hair was last night."

The young man padded over as Grimmjow turned away from the window. He half expected Ichigo to bring up the strange incident between them last night, but the boy simply smiled tiredly. Ichigo's eyes travelled down his back with an impressed look.

It was true. He had not cut his hair for years, and it fell down, down, almost to his knees in long blue layers. He never knew why he let it grow out; he was not vain or beauty-conscious in any way. He just never gave much mind to it.

But now it would be a liability. From his brief look out the window, he noticed that none of the men he saw had hair longer than shoulder length. His length, along with the color, would undoubtedly attract attention.

He looked up at Ichigo, who was still admiring the long locks. "I want to cut it off," he stated bluntly.

"Yeah, that's probably a good idea. But still, this must've taken years to grow…"

"I have no attachment to it."

"Fine, fine. I can't cut hair for shit, but I know someone." He noticed the look in Grimmjow's eyes. "Don't worry, he's a real nice guy."

A real nice guy? Like that meant anything to him. But he decided to trust the boy. He nodded after a moment.

Ichigo stretched and turned away. "Aren't you hungry? Let's find something to eat and then we can get cleaned up and go. I think I've got some stuff in the fridge."

Grimmjow grinned despite himself. Someone was asking him if he was hungry. Someone wanted to share food with him. At this point, there was just no reason to be surprised anymore. He still couldn't grasp his unbelievable luck. With a shake of his head, he followed Ichigo into the small but cozy kitchen.

Grimmjow had never been in a kitchen before. He saw Ichigo leaning into what he guessed was "the fridge". As he passed, he felt cold air emanating from it, and he saw all sorts of food inside. Interesting. He turned and sat in one of the chairs surrounding the small table as Ichigo pulled out a bowl of fruit and placed it on the table in front of him.

"You like eggs?" he asked.

Grimmjow just looked at him. Ichigo's eyes widened as he held up two white, round things.

"You know. Eggs? Scrambled, fried, poached?"

"What?" he growled. He hated not knowing what seemed to be the simplest things. But…he just didn't!

Ichigo leaned back against a counter with an incredulous look on his face. "What did you eat…back there?"

"Whatever I was given." Usually stale bread or canned vegetables, with the occasional can of beef stew or Vienna sausages. He drank metallic water from an old canteen.

"Which I'm guessing wasn't much..." Ichigo mused to himself in response to the blue-haired man's vague answer. "Well, you'll like this." He shook his head as he pulled a round pan from a cabinet beneath a flat, black apparatus on the counter that was decorated with various knobs and buttons.

Grimmjow watched with increasing interest as Ichigo placed the pan on one of the black circles on the counter and turned a knob. The black circle turned a bright red after a few seconds, and Grimmjow realized it was red with heat as Ichigo dropped a pat of butter into the pan that sizzled and began to melt as soon as it landed. The young man spread it around with a long, flat wooden spoon, and then reached for the eggs he had placed on the counter. With a _crack_, he swiftly struck the side of the pan with each egg; one, two, three, four times. Each time, he would let the orange, slimy contents fall into the pan, and throw the empty shells into the sink next to him.

Then, he used the wooden spoon to spread them around. He sprinkled them with black powder, and then white powder. Ichigo hummed as he worked. The eggs took on a pale yellow color as they lost their slimy texture and became solid. A delicious, warm scent filled the air, and Grimmjow felt his mouth water.

Ichigo noticed the other man's intent gaze as he reached up to grab plates for the both of them. He smirked. "You look like you've never seen someone cook before."

When Grimmjow remained silent, too prideful to admit he, in fact, _hadn't_, Ichigo paled. Wisely, he didn't push the issue. "This is a stove," he began, gesturing towards the black object with the hot circles on it. "Over there's the refrigerator, and that's a microwave," he continued, pointing to a black box with rows of buttons and blinking green numbers that told the time.

Ichigo picked up the pan and dumped the eggs in even portions onto each plate. He set one down in front of Grimmjow along with a fork. He set his own plate down and went back to the fridge, where he pulled out something wrapped in foil. When he opened it, Grimmjow could see thinly sliced pieces of some kind of meat inside.

"Here, watch," Ichigo said. "I'll use the microwave to heat up the bacon."

The young man unwrapped the bacon and spread the pieces on a plate, then placed the whole thing inside the microwave. He pressed a button two times, and with a beep the microwave whirred to life. Grimmjow watched as in less than two minutes the bacon was cooked. Sure enough, as Ichigo pulled the plate out of the microwave, the contents steamed and sizzled.

Grimmjow tried to keep his expression neutral so that he wouldn't look like an idiot in front of the young man. It was a completely different world out here. And he hadn't even left Ichigo's house yet.

Instead of shoving the food into his mouth as quickly as possible like he usually did, he watched Ichigo. The young man ate the bacon with his hands, and used the fork to pick up small amounts of egg. He tried his best to copy Ichigo, but his hunger won out after a bit and he ended up throwing three whole pieces of bacon into his mouth when Ichigo was looking away.

"Fruit?" Ichigo asked, proffering the large bowl.

Grimmjow looked inside, and saw an assortment of colorful slices. He glanced at Ichigo, then jabbed his fork at an interesting-looking piece. It was red, the innards slightly pink. The skin was dotted with tiny seeds.

As he took a bite, he nearly gagged as his mouth was assaulted with a strong, bright flavor he had never experienced before. Before he knew it, he was wolfing don the red things like a madman. There was something so familiar about them, something he couldn't place. And they were _good._

Ichigo snorted across from him. "Those're strawberries. They're unusually sweet for this time of year."

After breakfast, Ichigo steered him towards the shower and showed him the different soaps and shampoos. Thankfully, he'd been in a shower before; Aizen liked to keep all of his pets groomed before shows.

Grimmjow groaned softly as the hot water sluiced over his tired body. The bathroom was tiny, the shower hardly big enough for him. But he didn't care. He shifted uncomfortably as the water soaked his collar and made it rest heavily against his neck. Careful to keep his injured arm away from the spray, he washed himself.

As he lathered his long hair with shampoo, he grinned as Ichigo's strong scent swirled around him and realization hit him like a strong punch to the jaw.

It was the scent of strawberries.

* * *

As soon as he could hear the sound of the shower running steadily, Ichigo picked up the phone and dialed a familiar number.

"Hello?" a voice drawled.

"Hey, old man. It's me."

There was an accosted gasp on the other end of the line. "Well, Berry. What a wonderful way to wake up in the morning, to your lovely voice."

"Don't call me that," Ichigo scowled at the receiver. "Can I come over? I've got a friend who needs…help."

There was only a heartbeat of silence on the other end. "Of course. What happened?"

"Ah…It's hard to explain. You'll see when we get there. Is Shinji around?"

"Alright." There was a pause. "Speak of the devil, he just dropped by for a visit not five minutes ago."

"Thanks. Tell him to stick around for a while." That was part of the reason why Ichigo loved Urahara. He never questioned when Ichigo needed help. Although he was a pervert and a bit eccentric, he was a decent father figure.

"Maa, at least give me a name," Kisuke whined.

Ichigo sighed. "His name is Grimmjow."

There was silence on the other end of the line, and Ichigo wondered for a second whether the connection had severed. "Kisuke?"

"Hmm? Yes. See you soon."

The line went dead. Ichigo rolled his eyes at the man's weird behavior, but let it go as he heard the bathroom door open.

* * *

Ichigo studied Grimmjow critically as the man emerged from the shower. While he had been cleaning himself up, Ichigo had dressed himself and laid out a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved white shirt for the fighter to wear.

Now, however, he had to worry about concealing the collar and obnoxiously-colored hair before they went out in public. Ichigo had no doubt some of Grimmjow's Master's men would be in this part of the city.

He grabbed a long scarf from the hook in the hallway and wrapped it around Grimmjow's neck, and found an old hat in the back of the closet that he pulled down over the man's head. He tucked the long hair as best as he could down the back of his shirt.

Grimmjow's blue eyes looked at him patiently. Ichigo snorted as he tried to stifle his laughter.

"What?" Grimmjow barked.

"Nothing, nothing. Let's go."

The car ride was quiet, as Grimmjow gazed about in barely suppressed awe and Ichigo kept his eyes on the road, not wanting to embarrass him. As they came away from the center of the city, the streets became cleaner, and less people milled about aimlessly. There were houses, too, and rectangular, stout shops with colorful roofs and signs.

Ichigo fumbled with the various buttons and knobs in front of him until he had pressed them in an order that seemed to satisfy him. To Grimmjow's shock, a sweet, delicate sound filled the car. Ichigo smiled at Grimmjow's expression.

"What is this...?"

"Music." Ichigo sighed. "Kami, you've never heard music?"

"It's..." He could not describe it, and he was reluctant to pollute the air with meaningless words while this wonderful sound pressed around him.

Instead, he sat back and listened as Ichigo drove, loving the emotions that the music drew from deep places within him that he had forgotten. As it changed, he changed too, and he never wanted the trip to end.

* * *

It was over all too soon as Ichigo turned into the small parking lot of Urahara Shoten and killed the engine. He looked down and noticed that Grimmjow was gripping the armrest tightly, his knuckles white.

"The man we're seeing, he's like a father to me. His name is Urahara Kisuke. And my friend Shinji is here too, he's really nice."

Grimmjow wanted to snort at Ichigo's somewhat patronizing tone, but it did help a little. Not that he would ever admit to that. They got out of the car, and Grimmjow breathed in the fresh air, shivering in pleasure. Never would he take fresh air for granted.

A bell rang as they opened the door, and Grimmjow nearly jumped out of his skin. He stayed close behind Ichigo as the young man walked up to a counter and knocked three times.

The front of the shop was decorated in a simple fashion. The walls were painted a neutral tan, and there were a couple potted plants strewn about. There were no goods for sale like Grimmjow had expected. What kind of shop was this?

A small girl appeared, pushing aside a curtain of beads that concealed a room behind the counter.

"Hello, Ichi-kun…" she mumbled, a blush tinting her cheeks.

She looked nervously up at Grimmjow as Ichigo patted her head and asked her to go find "the old man". Grimmjow felt discomfort creep up his spine as her wide eyes gazed at him. It was rare he came in contact with small children.

He followed Ichigo in silence as they passed through the curtain of beads to a large sitting room with a wide window and a cozy looking kotatsu. Grimmjow gasped silently; he hadn't seen a kotatsu in years. He was too busy wondering if he would be allowed to sit in it to notice the dark figure sidling across the room to greet Ichigo. He remembered cold nights, turned fuzzy with time, sitting under the warm table with a boy, hair long and black, as they imagined living with families they would never have…

"And you must be Grimmjow," a low voice said.

Grimmjow turned, startled from his reverie, as a tall blonde man materialized in front of him. Urahara Kisuke. His hair was messy, and he wore a green kimono. He had a five o' clock shadow and tired, kind eyes that gave him an overall disarming appearance. Ichigo seemed to trust this man greatly, so Grimmjow vowed that he would try to do the same.

Still, there was something strange about this man, like Grimmjow had heard his name or seen his face before.

"Yes," he said gruffly, remembering that he had been addressed.

"Why don't we all take a seat? We can talk a bit—"

The man seemed to sense Grimmjow's tension and was gesturing towards the kotatsu when the beads were thrown aside again and a thin, gangly boy that looked about Ichigo's age sauntered into the room. His gaze landed on Ichigo. A wide grin split his face.

"Ichigo!" he cried. "Haven't seen you in ages, how ya been?"

He began to cross the room, but stopped as his eyes found Grimmjow's and the wide grin disappeared. He backed away, his eyes wide with alarm.

"Espada!" he spat.

Grimmjow snarled in response. How did this boy know him? He felt adrenaline rush through his veins, and eagerness to fight brought a bitter taste to his mouth. This boy would regret threatening him.

"Shinji!" Ichigo snapped. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Wrong with _me?_ What's wrong with _you?_ You brought that monster here."

"_What?" _Ichigo hissed, while at the same time Grimmjow moved to grab Shinji.

He was intercepted, however, as Kisuke's hand wrapped around his wrist. His grip was strong, stronger than Grimmjow had expected from him. He glared at Grimmjow, and Grimmjow stared right back. But he did not strike. He had no reason to hurt this man. Yet.

"Enough," Kisuke said. "Shinji, sit down and stop making a fool of yourself."

"But—" The look on Kisuke's face silenced him, and he sat.

The strange man turned his hard gaze back to Grimmjow. He relaxed his grip on Grimmjow's arm and sighed. "Please. Sit."

Grimmjow looked at Ichigo warily. The young man nodded imperceptibly, but Grimmjow still saw it. He steeled himself and sat down on the edge of the kotatsu, as far away from Shinji as possible. Ichigo wisely took a spot next to him, blocking Shinji from his view.

Kisuke ran his fingers through his hair, the tired look returning to his eyes. "It appears we have much to talk about."


	5. 5: El Verdad

**Chapter 5:**

**El Verdad**

**

* * *

**

The tension was heavy in the air as Grimmjow sat, waiting for Kisuke to collect his thoughts. He wanted to rip Shinji's throat out for the insolence with which the wiry blonde had addressed him. Greater men had their lives crushed for even looking at him the wrong way. Yet…

He let out a long breath, looking next to him at Ichigo. The young man's brow was furrowed in troubled anticipation, and he leaned forward strategically to block Shinji from Grimmjow's view. Looking at the innocent boy, Grimmjow knew that as long as Ichigo was near, he he would never do such a thing.

Kisuke rubbed his face with his hands and looked at Grimmjow contemplatively. "Grimmjow Jaegerjaques…You are not the first of Aizen's experiments. Shinji here is a testament to that."

To his right, Shinji crossed his arms and glared at the wall. Grimmjow's heightened senses picked up that the blonde was shaking ever so slightly. He continued to stare at Kisuke, waiting for the man to continue.

"Aizen and myself…you could say we used to be friends. We grew up together," Kisuke said slowly. "We lived in a slum. We had to fight almost daily to survive…and we loved it."

Grimmjow felt his jaw clench. It was true he thrived in the rush of dominance that came with winning, and the thrill of adrenaline in the heat of battle. Of going in as equals and coming out on top. He knew that feeling well. He also knew that it drove some to madness.

"As we grew older, I became more and more interested in the field of medicine," Kisuke continued. "We'd heard of athletes who used steroids to become faster and stronger; so we thought we could do the same.

Aizen urged me to create a drug, a drug that would make us impossible to defeat. Bigger, faster, stronger. And not only would it be used on ourselves, but we would strike it rich introducing this drug to the world. I had no idea of Aizen's ulterior motives. My only desire was to use it so that we would never have to go to sleep broken and bloody again."

The older man paused, his eyes slightly glazed. He glanced at Shinji, who still had his arms crossed. But his insolent expression had faded to one of contemplative sadness. "Well?" he barked. "Go on."

"Eventually, I finished the drug. It was perfect. One injection created the perfect fighting machine; it even altered their thinking, making them love battle above all else. Pain toleration was raised to new heights, and a user could go days without feeling any fatigue. I told this to Aizen, who wanted to try it immediately. I stopped him, though, because I wanted to test it for side effects. There was no telling what a drug like this could do to a body.

So he stole it. He stole the drug from me, and tested it on several young people he picked based on their body type and mental stability…one of them was Shinji."

Grimmjow looked next to him at Ichigo; the boy's jaw had dropped and he was gripping the table, knuckles white.

"When I found him, Shinji was…less than human. He was impossible to reason with…I realized my drug had created a monster. I pleaded with Aizen, but my friend was gone. He had used me to get what he wanted. That night was the last time I saw him. He took the drug, and used his connections to perfect it. Next thing I knew, an underground fight club had sprung up, and it didn't take long to find out who was behind it."

Ichigo scratched the back of his head, expression outraged. "So this Aizen guy is finding guys and sticking them full of drugs to fight for money?"

"Not guys," Grimmjow muttered. "Children."

Ichigo's face paled. "You…"

Grimmjow stared back, face neutral. "Yes. He took me when I was very young. I was trained to fight from the beginning." He vaguely remembered the sting of the needle. After years of being dosed, however, it just seemed like routine. He wondered how he would have turned out without it.

Shinji grimaced. "Your friend is lucky to be here, Ichi. Most don't survive very long under Aizen's control. And us, the Vaizards…it took us all a long time to recover from the effects of the drug."

"Yes," Kisuke mused. "It seems Aizen's been able to tweak it so that it's not a ruinous to the minds of its users nowadays…"

Ichigo stood suddenly, slamming his fists on the table. "What the hell is wrong with you? How can you just sit here like it's fucking tea time when there are people being treated like _dogs_ down there?"

Grimmjow felt the hair on the back of his neck bristle as Ichigo's anger was turned on him.

"And you!" Ichigo cried. "Why are you so damn calm? You had to live through all that, and you…you're fine. How can you just…how can you be alright after that _torture_?"

"It's all I've ever known."

Ichigo's expression softened, and he slowly sat down, placing his hand near Grimmjow's on the table. "Not anymore."

Kisuke coughed. "Ichigo, there's really not much that we can do. Aizen sells the drug, and now he owns nearly half the city. He would crush us easily if we tried anything against him."

"It's just not fair," Ichigo hissed.

"I know," Kisuke replied. "The most you can do now is help your friend adjust. Be thankful he's here now, instead of down there."

"How'd you escape, anyways?" Shinji cut in.

Grimmjow smirked and jumped into the story, eager to retell his journey back to the outside world. Anything to distract from the troubling story and to escape hearing the name of his Master.

* * *

"Okay, Grimmjow…Don't panic. I'm just gonna cut your hair." Shinji said slowly, brandishing a shiny pair of shears.

They sat in Ichigo's kitchen, a towel draped over the fighter's shoulders and Ichigo seated a few feet away in case Grimmjow became overwhelmed.

"He's really good at it," Ichigo soothed, noting Grimmjow's slightly dilated pupils.

Grimmjow wondered what Ichigo meant by 'good' as he eyed Shinji's strange bangs and long, straight strands. It wasn't particularly appealing to him in any way.

He sighed, closing his eyes and leaning back. "Just do it."

Shinji worked quietly as Ichigo merely watched. Grimmjow eventually admitted to himself that he kind of enjoyed the feeling of the comb moving through his hair, and the cold slide of metal against his scalp as the long blue strands were sliced away. He felt notably lighter as Shinji continued, like a load was being lifted from his shoulders.

Grimmjow was unsure of how much time had passed. He felt himself slipping in and out of conciousness, but was snapped back to reality when a soft brush swiped back and forth against his now-exposed neck. He shivered and brought his hand up, running his fingers through his hair. He was shocked when they only held on for a few seconds before coming up empty. It was so short!

"Let me see," he stated bluntly.

Shinji grinned and held up a small mirror for Grimmjow to take. "Damn I'm good," he chuckled.

Grimmjow's eyes widened as he beheld himself. He looked nearly unrecognizable. He liked it. Grimmjow glanced at Ichigo, who he had felt staring at him for the past three minutes. He couldn't help the small grin that tugged at one side of his mouth as the saw the faint pink that tainted the young man's face.

"Do you like it?" he asked Ichigo suddenly.

"Y-yes." Ichigo replied, surprised at Grimmjow's inquiry.

The blue-haired man was satisfied. "Thank you," he said gruffly to Shinji, handing back the mirror.

The blonde glanced between Ichigo and Grimmjow, a knowing look blooming on his face as he swept up the floor and gathered up his things. Shinji finally gave the small kitchen one last look, the turned to Ichigo.

"Well, I gotta fly Ichi. It's been real," he said, a wide grin splitting his face.

Ichigo stood, saying his own goodbye and stepping into Shinji's open arms, which closed tightly around his shoulders. Grimmjow's eyes narrowed as he waited for the blonde boy to crush Ichigo in his vice-like grip. He half-stood up in his chair, preparing to spring forward-no. Grimmjow felt his head cock to the side. Ichigo was…smiling. He, too, was holding Shinji in the same embrace, and they seemed to be enjoying it. Finally, the two stepped apart, and Shinji flitted out the door after shooting a quick wave to Grimmjow.

Ichigo closed and locked the door, then turned and slumped against it. "Man…what a day."

He moved forward and sat across from Grimmjow, placing his elbows on the table and cradling his head in his hands. They studied each other for a moment, neither speaking. Ichigo was fascinated by Grimmjow's transformation. The man was stunning. His exotic blue hair, those piercing, electric eyes, and the strange markings near them…

"What are those?" Ichigo mused, motioning towards his own eyes.

"Tattoos," the fighter said bluntly. "My Master likes to decorate his pets. I received them when I joined the ranks of the Espada."

"They're pretty."

Grimmjow's face contorted, somewhat resembling a sneer. "What was…that?" he asked, motioning towards the door that Shinji had just left through.

"What?"

"The…when he…captured you." Grimmjow struggled to find the right words, posing his arms in the air the same way Shinji did.

Ichigo's face crumpled into laughter as he watched the blue-haired man. His mirth was quickly silenced by sadness, however, as he realized Grimmjow had never, or at least couldn't remember, what it was like to be held in an embrace. "That was a hug," Ichigo said, smiling.

"A hug."

"Yes. Want one?"

Without waiting for Grimmjow's reply, Ichigo stood up and closed the distance between them, leaning down and placing his hands on the older man's shoulders. He leaned forward, slowly encompassing Grimmjow in his arms. Grimmjow tensed; there was something awkward about this, for a reason he couldn't fathom. It was a little too personal for him.

"Just relax," Ichigo soothed. "Feels good, right?"

Focusing on the orange-haired boy's soft voice, Grimmjow fought all of his instincts, forcing his muscles to unwind and bringing his own arms up to wrap tightly around Ichigo's waist. The boy was warm, and he could smell the scent of him that he loved. This close, Grimmjow could feel Ichigo's heartbeat, which was unusually quick.

He loosened his grip a little, realizing that the boy could be afraid, or…no. He refused to consider the alternative.

Sitting there, wrapped in Ichigo's arms, he saw why people did this so often. It did feel very nice.

* * *

Aizen stared at the man before him from behind his desk, his face a blank mask. "I'm sorry, Tousen, I do believe I misheard you. Could you repeat that?"

Tousen looked at the ground, refusing to meet the brown-haired man's eyes. "Sexta...your pet. He managed to escape. Not without help, of course. All of his accomplices have been shot down, however."

"How...troubling."

"Yes, my Lord."

Aizen sighed, his breath disturbing the curling smoke from the cigar in his left hand. "When?"

"Twenty-four hours ago."

Aizen's eyes flashed, and he leant forward, smashing his cigar into and over flowing ashtray and placing both of his hands on his desk. "Why did you not tell me until now? You mean to say that my pet has been roaming free on the outside for an entire _day_? Imagine the attention he may have drawn in that time...I expected more from you, Tousen."

Aizen pressed a button on the phone on his desk, mumbling a few words into the receiver before leaning back and glaring at his subordinate.

"I am sorry,-"

Aizen waved him off, his expression returning to the blank mask once more. "You _will_ find him. If not...why, then I suppose you will have to take his place in his next scheduled brawl two days from now. I have too much riding on this fight to back out."

Tousen's face paled as the other man's words sunk in. "Y-yes, sir."

He left quickly, passing through the door and the shadow of another man standing there, accompanied by a guard. The man was tall and dangerously thin, his long black hair obscuring half of his face. Aizen looked up expectantly. "Ahh, Nnoitra. Bring him in, please."

Chains clanked as Nnoitra was brought forth, connected to the heavy collar around his neck. His visible eye was a barely open slit, his mouth a thin line. "You summoned me...Master?"

"Yes," Aizen's eyes lit up as he regarded the man hunched before him. "Release him from his chains, and leave us." He ordered the guard who had led Nnoitra in.

As soon as the door closed behind the retreating guard, a slow smile stretched across Aizen's face. "Come closer, Nnoitra. Kneel before your Master."

Nnoitra complied, walking slowly forward and falling down to his knees inches from Aizen's knees. He looked down, allowing his hair to obscure his face. Aizen smirked, reaching down and lifting the Espada's chin.

"I believe you know why you are here...I have been quite enjoying your services these past few weeks, my pet."

Nnoitra bit his tongue to stop a disgusted sneer from forming on his lips. "Yes, Master." he purred instead. He needed Aizen to believe he wanted this as much as his Master did.

Aizen sighed, moving his hand to Nnoitra's hair. He wound his fingers in the smoot black locks tightly, pulling the man up until the Espada's lips met his own. Nnoitra allowed Aizen to dominate the kiss, pushing back a shudder as Aizen's tongue pushed harshly against his own.

He allowed Aizen to take whatever he wanted as he slowly lifted his right hand behind his back. A hand that tightly gripped a syringe filled with Szayel's strongest tranquilizer.

* * *

**(A/N: I am so sorry. This took four months to get out and it isn't even that great. I apologize again for the lateness. And thank you, everyone, for the continuing support. Love you all3**

**Please review, and message me with any questions you may have.)**


	6. 6: Nnoitra

**Chapter 6:**

**Nnoitra**

* * *

Shinji hurried home along the dark streets of Ichigo's district, cursing as he went. He'd ended up staying at Ichi's apartment longer than he'd intended – that Grimmjow had had enough hair to stuff a pillow with. Now, as he walked down the dirty sidewalk, the shadows on the buildings seemed darker than before and each hunched-over group of hoodlums he passed seemed to leer at him a bit longer than he felt comfortable with. He was strong enough to fight off attackers, but his lithe frame and gorgeous hair were no help in fending off creeps. If anything, he was a magnet for trouble.

As he turned a corner, a chill ran up his spine and he froze. He knew he was being watched. Shinji felt his heart pick up speed as he picked up his pace, fighting off the urge to break into a jog. _Relax, relax_. He thought to himself, ignoring the adrenaline that began to pump into his veins. The effects of Aizen's drug had long worn off, but he still knew how to defend himself – and when a long, thin arm wrapped around his neck, he instantly jabbed his elbow as hard as he could into his assailant's stomach.

The man behind him grunted, but did not release his grip. Shinji's face was whipped with long, black hair as he was gripped by the throat and shoved against the brick wall of a building. He thrashed and kicked out violently – when his steel-toed boot connected with the crotch of the strange man, Shinji almost grinned at the low, pained moan he heard – but the man only gripped his neck tighter, and pushed his whole body flush against him, effectively pinning him tight against the wall.

In the light of a streetlamp, Shinji could make out the man's face. It was long and thin like the rest of his impossibly tall body, framed by black hair like silk. His face was split by a wide grin that promised nothing but menace. Shinji felt another chill, this time from deep within his core. The man regarded him with one eye barely open – the other was concealed by an eyepatch securely taped to his head.

"Hello, sweet thing," the man said. "How are we tonight?"

Shinji gasped as the man opened his mouth – there, on his tongue, was the number "5" tattooed in intricate script. Shinji began to tremble despite himself. Where the fuck were all these damn Espada coming from? He swallowed hard, his throat convulsing against the man's hand. "What do you want?" he choked out.

The Espada loosened his grip from around Shinji's neck and placed both hands against the wall on either side of the young man's head. He let his eyes travel down, down…over the boy's heaving chest, to his thin hips and thighs. His grin widened as the boy flushed in response. "Don't look so scared," he crooned. "I need a place to stay, and you're the lucky winner."

"I'm not scared," Shinji spat despite himself. "I know what you are, Espada."

The black-haired man's eyes widened, and his grin vanished as he stared at Shinji. He gripped the younger man's collar with both hands, lifting him up and nearly crushing him against the wall with the weight of his body. "I'll kill you before I let you take me back to _him,_" he snarled.

Shinji gasped and struggled to breathe. "Stop…I'm...on your side – I'm like you!" he ground out.

A confused look bloomed on the other man's face. "Vaizard…? No…"

"Yes!" Shinji cried. "Now let me down, damn it!"

Nnoitra stepped off a little, and Shinji crumpled, heaving for breath. The dark-haired man caught him before he collapsed fully. "I thought Vaizards were just legends," he said in a low voice. It was the closest thing Shinji would get to an apology.

"Obviously you thought fuckin' wrong," Shinji coughed. "Jesus."

"My name is Nnoitra."

Shinji glared. "Well, _Nnoitra, _against all better judgment I guess I can offer you a place to stay. But only because I know they're gonna be after you. And I can't afford regular security."

_Security?_ "You want protection?" The grin returned full-force.

"I could use a big, strong boy like you," Shinji said, a smile widening his own face. "Make things easier for myself. And admit it, you need me. You've probably never seen much of the city."

Nnoitra felt something small move inside of him when he saw it. Just hunger, probably. And though he was loathe to admit it, Shinji was right. He had been wandering these streets completely lost until he came across the weak-looking boy.

"Fine," Nnoitra growled, straightening up and letting Shinji pass. "Lead the way, _Sir."_

* * *

"Ichigo," Grimmjow hissed. "_Ichigo!" _He shook the snoozing boy below him on the bed.

Ichigo groaned and rolled over, then opened his eyes to look up at Grimmjow's troubled blue ones. "Whaat?"

"There is someone being attacked outside," Grimmjow said.

This brought the young man to full attention. "Really? Where?" Grimmjow pointed towards the living room, and Ichigo rushed in and peeked outside through the old square window. The sound of a woman moaning softly wafted up, coupled with the sound of a zipper and a man's groan. "Er…" Ichigo blushed. "It's okay Grimmjow, there's no one being attacked out there."

"Then what was he doing to her face?" Grimmjow asked seriously.

Ichigo sighed and sat down on one of the beat-up old chairs. "He was kissing her."

Grimmjow had no idea what that meant. He sat down next to Ichigo and waited for the young man to continue.

"You'll experience it too, one day," Ichigo said, smiling. "It happens when two people love each other very much –" he paused. Was he seriously about to give Grimmjow 'the talk'?

But the blue-haired man just leaned in, his eyes betraying his obvious interest.

"They just…they hold each other, they hug!" he said.

Grimmjow nodded. He knew now of hugs, and what they signified.

"And then, they press their lips together, and sometimes…they use their tongues, to suck, or…bite."

Grimmjow snorted. "Who would want to bite a tongue."

"I think it could be very nice," Ichigo said without thinking, then clapped his hands over his mouth in shock. "I mean, you know."

But Grimmjow didn't know. He couldn't understand Ichigo's embarrassment, or the appeal of sucking another person's tongue. The outside world and its rules of affection were extremely confusing.

"And then after that, they might…have sex." Ichigo said hesitantly.

Sex. Grimmjow knew that word. For him though, it held something much different than what it did for Ichigo. He gripped the arm of the couch tightly with his hand. Sometimes, fighters would use sex to show dominance over others. To show power. And other times, his Master would invite his pets to his office for the night, and have them give him a special 'service.' Grimmjow knew because Nnoitra had been Master's favorite since they were both quite young, passed around between Master's friends at dinners and parties. They would tie the boy facedown on a table – Aizen would keep him on display as they ate, and then invite his friends to take turns after dinner while the rest of them stood around and watched. Grimmjow was spared that particular torture, but knew how it haunted Nnoitra. He was there when the boy woke up sobbing in the night after the first few months, until one day he returned wearing a bloody eyepatch, a wide grin splitting his face. He was not called back to Master for a long time after that, until recently – Grimmjow could tell because the dark look had returned to Nnoitra's eyes. Grimmjow knew his friend was approaching a breaking point. He wondered how Nnoitra was doing now. For a moment, he wished he had been able to escape with him.

When he told all this to Ichigo, the young man sat there in stunned silence for a while. "It's not always like that, Grimmjow," he finally said, his voice almost pleading. "It can be…beautiful."

The blue-haired man tried not to dismiss Ichigo's words. Not too long ago he had doubted the existence of a kindness like the one he had been shown, and yet here he was. If Ichigo said sex could be something beautiful, then he supposed he had fair reason to believe him.

He grinned suddenly, showing his teeth. "Maybe you can show me," he said in a low voice.

Like Grimmjow knew he would, Ichigo turned deep red. "I-It's late," the boy muttered. "L-let's go back to bed, okay? I w-want to show you things tomorrow."

Grimmjow chuckled and sprawled out across his fold-out bed. "Yes, _Master," _he purred, stretching and burying his head in a pillow in a vision of pure feline pleasure.

Ichigo felt the heat spread down to his neck and chest as he turned away, flicking off the light and nearly running into his room. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. Grimmjow was such a tease! The thought filled him with a familiar sadness. If Grimmjow had been able to grow up on the outside, he would have been such a ladykiller. With those eyes, he could've easily gotten anything he wanted. Another feeling began to burn in Ichigo's stomach, one that made him draw the sheets around him and curl his toes. Deep inside, in a very selfish place, he was almost glad that Grimmjow had come to him the way he had. He was glad to be able to show him everything, to be the one Grimmjow depended on. Ichigo wanted to give him the life he could've never had underground.

As much as he tried to deny it, he was incredibly drawn to the wild, mysterious man who lay purring on his couch.

* * *

**Please accept this crappy chapter as an apology for my year-long absence. And please let me know what you think of the story!**


	7. 7: La Ciudad

**Chapter 7:**

**La Ciudad**

* * *

Renji hummed to himself as he approached Ichigo's apartment door, twirling his spare key in hand. Ichigo had given it to him in case of emergencies, but he sometimes used it when he didn't feel like knocking on the door. It was early, anyway, and he worried that his friend might still be asleep.

In his free hand he held a bag of freshly-made donuts from Ichigo's favorite place down the street. Renji figured they were an appropriate apology for his drunken antics the other night. He didn't remember much of anything, but when he woke up in his own bed the next morning he realized Ichi must've gotten him home somehow.

When he reached the door, he didn't bother knocking. He eased himself in as stealthily as he could. He was doing fine at being sneaky until Ichigo's cat, Baka, decided to entwine herself between his legs.

"Oi! Baka!" Renji hissed, struggling not to trip over the purring feline. "Where've you been, anyway?"

Baka liked to disappear for days on end. Sometimes she brought back 'gifts' for Ichigo, but more often she just showed up unexplained. They still hadn't figured out how Baka got into the apartment when Ichigo wasn't home – he didn't own a cat door.

Ichigo called her Baka because she was such a pain in the ass – she slept on his face, interrupted his showers, and walked all over his homework. But Renji knew that despite all of his complaining, Ichi loved that cat like she was his baby.

Renji dropped the keys and the bag of donuts on the kitchen table, then wandered into the living room. He frowned when he saw the fold-out bed was, well, folded out, and that there was a mess of covers and pillows on top.

He shrugged and turned away to head down the hall to Ichigo's room. There's no way his friend had a girl over – he'd be the first to know, right? And why would she be sleeping in the living room, anyway? _Oh my god._ Renji thought suddenly, stopping in his tracks. Maybe he'd brought her home and she was _horrible in bed_…or he _pulled down her pants and something else was down there. _

Renji marched towards Ichigo's bedroom door purposefully, ready to lend a much-needed helping hand. His friend would not be forced to suffer any longer. There was a creak of a floorboard behind him, but he barely registered it as he reached out to open the door –

A hand wrapped around his neck and dragged him away from the door, the other jerking his left arm behind his back and twisting it harshly, trapping it there. "Who are you?" A voice growled next to his ear.

Renji thrashed against his assailant, wincing when his arm was cranked further up his back. "What the fuck?" he yelled. "ICHIGO!"

Grimmjow snarled and staggered as Renji convulsed in his grip, but he stood his ground. "Why are you in Ichigo's house?" he demanded.

"_Me?" _Renji howled incredulously. "Who the flying fuck're _you?"_

"I am Grimmjow," Grimmjow said. Renji just continued to flail.

Just then Ichigo burst out of his room, eyes wild as he beheld the sight before him.

"Oi! Ichigo!" Renji cried out. "Is this your she-male?"

"My _what?_ Renji, what the fuck are you talking about?"

"Then who is he? And tell him to let me go!"

Ichigo sighed, rubbing his temples. "Grimmjow, please."

"He was trying to break into your room," Grimmjow said seriously.

Ichigo removed his hand from his forehead and let an open expression lighten up his face as he looked straight at Grimmjow. "It's alright! He's a very close friend. It's okay."

Grimmjow slowly let Renji go, keeping his eyes on Ichigo the entire time. Renji stumbled away, rubbing his left arm. His eyes flitted between the two, and a mischievous look flashed across his face.

"Oh, I get it," he said with a chuckle, elbowing Ichigo playfully in the ribs and raising his eyebrows up and down suggestively. "Ichi, I never knew –"

"Would you just shut the fuck up?" Ichigo said crossly, and pushed Renji into the kitchen. "It's not like that you idiot."

Grimmjow cocked his head and followed the two young men into the kitchen. He sat down directly across from Renji at the table, letting him know with his sharp glare that the redhead was not welcome.

"This is Grimmjow. Grimmjow, Renji," Ichigo said, pulling down plates from the cabinets. "He's staying with me for a while."

"Pleasure," Renji said with an expression that looked the exact opposite. He extended his right arm for a handshake, but when Grimmjow just regarded the hand with an unchanging expression he slowly pulled it back. "Uh…where did this Grimmjow come from?"

Ichigo swallowed. "He was just, you know. I kind of, um, found him?"

"The fuck? You taking in bums now? Are you crazy? This monster nearly ripped off my arm, he could kill you in your sleep!"

Ichigo replied with a sharp "he's not a monster!" as Grimmjow snarled from across the table. "I would never harm Ichigo," he spat.

Renji leaned back, stunned by the force of their twin outbursts. He looked at Ichigo, confused, but the young man said nothing as he set out napkins and picked up the bag of donuts.

He placed a chocolate one on Grimmjow's plate with a smile. "You'll like this one. I know it looks weird but it's really good, trust me," he said brightly.

He tossed the bag to Renji, but the red-haired man just held it, trying not to gape at the scene in front of him. Ichigo sat down next to Grimmjow and tried not to laugh as the blue-haired man took a tentative bite after sniffing the whole thing around – then wolfed the rest of it down with a look of sheer pleasure. Ichigo looked up suddenly as if broken from a reverie.

"Well come on," he said. "Don't hog the bag."

Renji passed it back, still shocked. Grimmjow grabbed two more, one chocolate and one glazed, and Ichigo took out three for himself as well. When Renji got the bag back he sat there and picked at a blueberry cake, confused as hell.

"Thanks for bringing these, by the way," Ichigo said. "Any particular reason you stopped by?"

"Oh, um…I wanted to apologize for the other night," Renji replied. "At least, I think I do."

Ichigo smirked. "Yeah, I had to drag you up ten flights of stairs you asshole. You're welcome."

"Thanks," Renji said sheepishly, and then shook himself. "Ichigo –"

Ichigo silenced him with a glare, and then made a motion that meant, _Later. _Renji sighed and returned to his food. He could eat now that he knew he'd get some answers soon enough.

* * *

As soon as Grimmjow stalked off to take a shower, Ichigo pulled Renji into the living room and sat him down on the fold-out bed. He took a seat next to him and looked into the redhead's eyes seriously.

"Well?" he asked.

"What's going on, Ichigo?" Renji demanded.

"Renji, all of that stuff we heard, about Las Noches? It's all true," Ichigo said, sighing heavily. "He esaped, and I took him in."

Renji paled. "Ichigo, they're gonna come after you! They've got to be tracking him somehow, y'know? It's not worth it to put yourself in this kind of danger."

"No, you don't understand!" Ichigo snapped. "He's staying here with me, there's no way I'm turning him out. Once you get to know him, he's…" Ichigo struggled for the right words to describe the powerful, quiet man. "Just trust me." He'd been saying that a lot recently.

"I'm just…worried, Ichigo," Renji said. "I understand why you're doing this, it's fucked up what they do to people down there, but…this is serious shit, my friend. You need to be on your guard."

"I know, I know," Ichigo said.

He felt a worry gnawing at his gut, and he suddenly began to fear for himself and for Grimmjow. Were they really tracking him right now? He wondered how, and then thought of Grimmjow's collar.

But then he recalled how Grimmjow had reacted the last time he had tried to get close to it…Ichigo shivered. They'd have to get that collar off eventually, sooner rather than later. He hoped he'd be able to build up Grimmjow's trust enough to be able to convince him to remove it.

Renji stood up as the sound of the shower stopped. "I guess I'd better head out. I'm meeting Rukia for an early lunch."

Ichigo smiled at that, letting his troubled thoughts fall into the back of his mind for a moment. "Have fun," he said, and walked Renji to the door.

He returned to the kitchen and cleaned up the plates and trash, waiting for Grimmjow to emerge from the bathroom. Ichigo was excited to do a little walking out in the city streets. It was a beautiful day, and a great chance for Grimmjow to begin to expose himself to the world aboveground.

* * *

Aizen sat up in a rage, ripping tape and needles from his arms as he struggled to stand up from the hospital bed. Tousen stood across the room from him, near the door – as far away as possible. He knew not to cross Aizen when the man was like this. It didn't happen often, but when it did, someone usually paid for any transgression with a bullet through the head.

"_Two,_" he ground out, his words barely above a whisper. "Two of my pets have escaped, Tousen, within twenty-four hours of each other. I am not very happy to hear that. _At all."_

"I understand, Sir."

"I didn't _ask_ for your opinion, Tousen."

The man stood silent.

"This represents a serious breakdown in discipline. I've been too easy on them all…they are not understanding that they are my property. I think they need to be taught a strong lesson in obedience."

Tousen let the man carry on his monologue. He watched as Aizen's eyes darkened; he was no doubt remembering how Nnoitra had drugged him and gotten away. Tousen knew that that was the root of Aizen's rage – he favored the Fifth Espada, he prized that pet above all the others. Tousen watched in growing trepidation as the heart monitor beeped with Aizen's growing agitation – the man had not yet ripped off the markers taped to his chest.

"Tsk, tsk," A voice sounded at the door, and both men turned to see a pink-haired man saunter in, a clipboard in hand. "you need to be resting, My Lord." Szayel bowed deeply, a glint in his eyes that Aizen could not see.

Aizen scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Hello to you too, Doctor. Tell me, how did Nnoitra get his hands on such a strong tranquilizer? You keep them locked up."

"How, indeed," Szayel answered, covering his mouth with a gloved hand. "As you said, there seems to be quite the breakdown in discipline…perhaps not just in the Espada, but…elsewhere as well."

Aizen narrowed his eyes. "What are you insinuating?"

"Nothing, My Lord," Szayel answered. "I would never dream of betraying you, I am only asking that you be aware."

"Oh, I know that you would never betray me, Szayel," Aizen said. "You're been with me since the very beginning. I'm just so distraught. I've lost Nnoitra, you see. He was my jewel – I could use that body of his all day."

Szayel stiffened imperceptivity. "Then I pray that you retrieve him," he responded, perhaps a little too quickly.

If Aizen could tell, he did not show it. "Lock up the rest of the Espada, and double the security on all doors of the basement," he said to Tousen. "And what's the status on their location?"

"They've been secured," Tousen responded. "I'm sending out men now as we speak."

"Good," Aizen said, settling back a little. "Very good, Tousen."

* * *

Grimmjow followed behind Ichigo closely. They were surrounded by people – the streets were full of them, pressing against each other, walking, eating, singing, laughing. There were people that Ichigo called _buskers_ who sat on street corners and made beautiful music with great wooden and metal instruments. Grimmjow was mystified by them and could have stood there watching all day, but Ichigo pulled him away to see more of what the city had to offer.

They stopped at many places and did something called _shopping_ – there were buildings filled with food and clothes and other goods that people could just take – in exchange for money, of course. Grimmjow was happy to follow along as they entered several of these buildings. He took in the sights and smells of each one, sometimes picking up items he found intriguing and adding them to Ichigo's baskets.

His favorite additions were a can of strawberry milk that he was excited to try and a…_candy, _he remembered it was called, a type of candy called chewing gum. Ichigo said you chewed and chewed to suck out the flavor, but did not swallow. This was interesting to Grimmjow and Ichigo willingly let him have it.

He really loved shopping for produce – the feel of fresh fruits and vegetables in his hands, the smells varying from sweet, to savory, to spicy, to bitter. Ichigo taught him how to check for ripeness of a fruit and the vitality and freshness of a vegetable, and how to tell between a small number of spices.

He trailed along beside the orange-haired man, helping him choose groceries and breathing in the scent of each new object that entered his vision. He was a bit overwhelmed, but in a good way. He couldn't wait to bring all that they had bought back home.

_Home. _Grimmjow felt a small weight in his chest as he thought of that word. He had already become accustomed to the small apartment, had familiarized himself with and taken a liking to the familiar scent of the place, and of Ichigo. The thoughts he had harbored of leaving to fend for himself now seemed highly undesirable. He wondered how long Ichigo would tolerate him before he grew weary of watching after him.

As the pair walked away from the busy market and turned into a mostly empty alley, Grimmjow felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He felt cold all of a sudden, and he put out his arm to stop Ichigo from walking.

"What? What's wrong?" Ichigo asked, looking around with alarm.

Grimmjow merely snarled, and in response three men stepped out from under a doorframe. Two held crowbars, the other a sick-looking knife.

"Your Master desires your return, Sexta," one of the men said. "If I were you I'd come quietly before he sends out more…persuasive enforcement."

A second man, this one with blond hair, turned his body to eye Ichigo. "What's this, Sexta? A friend?"

Grimmjow just glared in response, pushing Ichigo behind him.

"Aww," the blond man said with a sneer. "Kill the redhead."

Ichigo dropped the bags he was holding as the three men leapt towards him, ready to defend himself. But Grimmjow didn't let them get very far; he dodged the man with the knife, and grabbed the blonde-haired man at the neck.

He buried his fingers into his flesh, crushing his windpipe. Grimmjow then threw him against the wall, where he slumped to the ground, choking on air that refused to enter his lungs.

The man with the knife lunged again, this time slicing through Grimmjow's shirt and tracing a red line across his stomach. Grimmjow made no sign that he felt it, but twisted to the side and grabbed the man's outstretched arm.

There was a horrible snapping sound as Grimmjow brought the limb down, breaking it over his knee and then pulling the man across his body to collide with the third assailant, whose bat was midway through landing down on Grimmjow's back.

The blue-haired man was a whirlwind of motion, a snarling warrior. He dodged as if he could anticipate each move and retaliated with such ferocity that Ichigo's stomach dropped.

When all three men fell to the ground around him, he stood still – then clenched his fists at his sides and let out a howl of pure animal pride. He turned to Ichigo, his face still on fire from the heat of battle. When he saw Ichigo involuntarily take a step back, the light faded from Grimmjow's eyes.

"Are you afraid?" He asked. His chest heaved as he panted, and blood stained his clothes – not all of it was his.

"No," Ichigo said. He willed his voice not to quake, and steeled himself, stepping forward to inspect the slash across Grimmjow's abdomen. "No, Grimmjow. I'm not afraid." And he meant it.

Then Grimmjow did something completely unexpected, something he had no knowledge of but his body seemed to recall instinctually. Adrenaline singing in his veins, the rush of a victory ringing in his ears, Grimmjow reached out and clutched the back of Ichigo's head, ignoring the shocked gasp the action evoked.

He looked into the young man's clear eyes, and saw a mess of emotions there – fear, confusion, and something else that Grimmjow could not name, something that he felt too.

And Grimmjow kissed him.

* * *

**Two chapters in one day, holy shit. I figured you all deserved something with a little more substance after, what, nearly a year and a half? How have you all been in that time? I feel like I'm meeting old friends. Which reminds me, hello to new readers too (cough, Alexa). **

**Please leave a review, they spur me on when I feel blocked, and they encouraged me to add this extra chapter. And anyways, your opinions keep me in line, I love reading them.**

**Hope everyone's summers are going great, see you next update.**

**~vh**


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